


There's No Place Like Home

by bisasterdi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale POV, But they try bless them, F/M, Fluff, Home, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, M/M, Occult and Ethereal Beings to the Rescue, Realizations, flat hunting, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi/pseuds/bisasterdi
Summary: When Anathema and a soaking wet Newt show up on Aziraphale's doorstep one night, one angel and one demon appoint themselves the young couple's flat hunting consultants. Who better to assist than two immortal beings who have spent centuries around London, after all? They won't stop until a suitable living space is found, no matter the obstacles. (And if Aziraphale realizes a few things about himself along the way, well, that's just gravy, isn't it?)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley & Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 143
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	There's No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Forlorn Kumquat (sara_wolfe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/gifts).



> Prompt used: Crowley and Aziraphale run a real estate agency, and have to find the perfect house for their newest clients, Anathema and Newt. (This probably lends itself to a human AU, but would be hilarious as canon.)
> 
> Forlorn Kumquat, I’m terribly sorry about the wait, but here is your pinch hit gift! I brainstormed ideas with my excellent beta, Soap, for all three of your prompts. In the end, we both decided that the idea of having Crowley and Aziraphale help Newt and Anathema with house/flat hunting and keeping it canon compliant was just too funny to pass up. (I had to adjust the prompt a little to fit it into canon, I hope that’s okay!)
> 
> Thanks to: Soap, for lightning-quick betaing, brainstorming, streamlining, and general hilarity. <3

Aziraphale heard the distant ding of the bell at the bookshop's entrance, pulling a face, and then pulling it harder once Crowley began to laugh.

"Why didn't you just close up?" Crowley asked, still snickering as he arched his back drunkenly into the cushions of the miraculously comfortable sofa Aziraphale kept in his private offices at the rear of the shop. "You're in no fit state to defend your books from invaders."

"I'm not," Aziraphale moaned, his shoulders dropping with resignation at the idea that he'd have to either give up this lovely, tipsy floating sensation or possibly lose one of his books.

"Right," Crowley said, trying to stand up and missing. "I'll take care of this," he added, from the floor.

Aziraphale was already sobering up, though, and helping Crowley slither back onto his perch on the sofa. As the clarity came back to his thoughts, he allowed himself to notice just how perfect Crowley's shoulders fit into his hands as he helped Crowley settle back, and they both shared a too-long moment staring at one another until Aziraphale cleared his throat and drew himself back up to his full height.

"I'll just…" Aziraphale stammered, pointing behind himself rather aimlessly, still focused on the look in Crowley's beautiful serpentine eyes, though he'd really meant to look away by now. "I should probably…well…the books."

"Yeah," Crowley agreed. "You should." He was clearly still inebriated, but he looked a little clearer somehow, staring up and nodding.

"Right then. Won't be a tick!" Aziraphale turned as quickly as he could, ignoring the tightness in his stomach that always accompanied these sorts of moments with Crowley, and doing so with the ease of a being who had several centuries of practice.

His hands were at his bow tie, nervously fluttering over the fabric, as he made his way from the back room into the main shop area. The relief hit him in full force when he saw who was there, and a genuine smile found its way to his face.

"Anathema, my dear friend," he said, coming forward to welcome her inside. "No need to hover in the entryway! If you've come to catch up, Crowley and I are enjoying each other's company in my private offices." His eyes flitted to the door. "I could even be persuaded to close early tonight, should you have some time to settle in with us."

"Oh, no," she said, taking a step back. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your time with your…you and…your…" Anathema trailed off, but with a questioning lilt at the end. It was almost as though she was trying to figure out exactly what Crowley was, but she had to have sussed out that he was a demon by now. Although humanity in general seemed to have only a dim recollection of the events surrounding the Almost End-Times, Anathema seemed to have kept a surprisingly clear memory of the whole affair. For a human, at any rate.

"It's no interruption," Aziraphale insisted, though a quick memory of how he'd felt when he and Crowley were staring, unblinking, into each other's eyes fought its way to the forefront of his mind and protested just the opposite.

"We wouldn't have bothered you, especially without calling ahead, it's just that Newt…" She looked behind herself, toward the door of the shop, and if Aziraphale squinted, he could just make out the shape of Anathema's young man hovering just outside. "We had a mishap, actually, while we were looking at flats in town, and I'm afraid he'll be too uncomfortable on the way home if we don’t find him a place to dry off."

"Why hasn't he," Aziraphale began, and backtracked a touch with an abundance of caution, as Anathema did seem to play her cards quite close to the vest, "if you don't mind me asking, of course…simply come into the shop along with you?"

"Well, he's still quite soaked, you see, and he was afraid you'd be concerned about your books."

As it happened, Aziraphale  _ was  _ concerned about his books, but he couldn't imagine leaving the poor, shivering man to drip-dry outside when he could come in and get warm by the fire instead. What sort of angel did Anathema think he was?

"Don't be ridiculous, my dear girl. Of course he's welcome inside." Aziraphale started for the door, only to be held back by Anathema's hand in the middle of his chest—a move she looked quite startled to have made once she noticed, and she pulled her hand back as though it had been burnt.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Miss Device, you've done nothing wrong. I merely wanted to poke my head out and assure your young man that he's quite welcome, you see. Nothing to worry about."

"Yes." She seemed to be agreeing, but she wasn't moving out of the way. "It's only that—he's terrified of you."

"Of  _ me? _ Certainly there's been some misunderstanding." He leaned closer to Anathema, feeling quite odd to say what he was about to say to a human being, even though he knew very well that it wasn't new information for her. "I'm an  _ angel _ , Miss Device," he whispered, somehow expecting something terrible to happen as soon as he said the words aloud.

"Yes." She looked up at him, utterly befuddled. "No matter how many times I try to tell myself that, it just doesn't want to stay inside my head. I  _ know _ , of course. But it's hard to  _ know. _ " She didn't look any less confused, and Aziraphale truly wanted to sit her down with a nice, hot cup of tea until she felt better. "I suppose that doesn't make any sense to you, does it?"

"I'm afraid it makes perfect sense. You are neither  _ supposed  _ to know, nor are you meant to recall the events at the airbase—not with the clarity you have. It's quite extraordinary for you to have the grasp on it that you do."

A soft rapping sounded on the glass behind them, and a miserable-looking Newt peered through. His hair was matted down and his clothing was drenched, and overall, it looked like it had only been a matter of moments since fat droplets of water would still have been dripping from the end of his nose.

"Don't suppose I could have a towel?" came his voice, muted through the door, with an odd cocktail of fear and hopefulness raising his eyebrows and playing in the set of his eyes.

"My good young man," Aziraphale said, finally bustling past Anathema to swing open the door to his shop. "There's no need for you to huddle outdoors like a vagrant. I've protected my books from much worse than a few drops of water, I'll have you know, and I sense that they're in no danger from you."

It took several tries to coax Newt inside, and he steadfastly refused to budge from the spot just inside the entryway once Aziraphale finally prevailed upon him to come in. He was about to use a quick miracle to dry the poor man off when Newt suddenly dove behind Anathema, face filled now with abject horror.

"No, no," Newt babbled. "That's not necessary. No need to go to all that trouble…hate to put you out…just a towel, if it's possible?"

"Book girl?" Crowley appeared in the opening between Aziraphale's private space and the shop proper, leaning on the jamb and looking remarkably more clear-headed than he had just minutes ago. "Other…human?"

"It's Anathema and Newt, my dear Crowley," Aziraphale corrected, on a sigh. He knew Crowley was familiar with their names. They'd spoken about Anathema's rather atypical memory of the near apocalypse several times, but it didn't surprise him that Crowley would pretend not to care enough to remember them properly. He was quite good at pretending not to care about things.

To Aziraphale's secret, quiet torment of late, it seemed they had both perfected the art of feigning an artful emotional distance from the things that actually mattered very much to them. 

"Yeah, 'course." Crowley shrugged, and then examined his fingernails as though the conversation was already boring him. After a moment, though, Aziraphale could tell he was narrowing his eyes at their impromptu guests from behind the glasses he'd put back on before venturing out.

Newt made a little whimper where he'd huddled behind Anathema, and Anathema cleared her throat. She was about to say  _ something _ —though she herself didn't look very sure about what it was to be—when Crowley spoke again. He had raised one arm to lean against one of the shop's round supporting columns and had the other one resting on a nearby table. Aziraphale supposed Crowley was trying to affect a careless slouch, but he looked rather more like a large bird spreading its wings to intimidate a predator.

"Have an urgent need for a book?" Crowley asked, his voice light, as though he was merely making polite conversation. He tilted his head, looking more directly at Newt, and added, "An urgent… _ damp _ need for a book?"

Anathema took a deep breath, and then just appeared to dive in.

"We were looking at flats around town today, you see, but not having much luck. The last one was in a brand new, high-tech building with smart home technology. The building manager told Newt to give a voice command for the tap in the kitchen to turn itself on, and it…didn't function as expected." She paused, sighing deeply. "It sort of exploded, instead."

"Oh, how dreadful! And how awful of that building manager to allow you to leave in such a state!" Aziraphale took a step forward, about to pull a miracle from the air which would entice the water still surrounding the poor, drenched young man to suddenly return to the clouds, when Anathema stopped him again.

"Just a little human sort of help, if that's all right?" she asked. "Maybe a towel, or a hair dryer?"

Crowley threw a careless snap of his fingers upward and was suddenly holding an incredibly fluffy jet black towel, which he offered to Anathema and Newt with a shrug. Anathema grabbed it right away and turned to tuck it around Newt, who cringed away from it until there were a few furiously whispered words between the two of them. Newt finally allowed it to be draped over him, but his shoulders were hunched and his eyes were squeezed shut as though he expected to blow up or burst into flames any moment now.

Aziraphale came forward, urging Newt and Anathema into the back room of the shop to huddle by the fire (which had just ignited itself in the fireplace that had also appeared just moments ago along the back wall.) The flames cracked merrily away, putting out lovely waves of heat suitable to dry out one tall-ish human body. Crowley threw himself onto a chair while Aziraphale settled their guests on the sofa, before he sat in his armchair again.

"I take it you're moving from Tadfield, then, Anathema?" Aziraphale inquired politely, sensing that if he didn't keep the conversation moving, they were likely to fall into a very uncomfortable silence.

"Newt's found a new job here in London, and we've decided to move in together," she answered, quite straightforwardly, but Newt's eyelashes fluttered with pleasure when she said it, which Aziraphale found completely heartwarming.

"Oh, how lovely! Congratulations on the job, Newton, and to the two of you on this marvelous new step you're taking together." Aziraphale sighed with pleasure, beaming at the both of them, and Newt finally seemed to allow himself to relax a touch.

It must be a dream, setting off on their new life together, not knowing what will come next but being determined to take it on together. Aziraphale had manufactured countless 'new starts' for himself, of course, over the millennia. Never, though, had he had the pleasure of doing so with someone by his side.

Oh, he'd known Crowley all this time, of course. They'd always been each other's constants, but never in a deliberate way. Meetings between them had been sporadic, and often under strained circumstances. Newt and Anathema were doing something very different, taking each other by the hand and setting off together like this. Yet it was also quite mundane, as far as the human experience went. Humans had seemed to huddle themselves into pairs or groups right from the very start.

Perhaps it was one of the idiosyncrasies of humanity that would remain out of his grasp, being here on Earth as a renegade angel.

When Aziraphale shook himself out of his thoughts, he was surprised to find Crowley actually advising Anathema. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it's wasn't Crowley leaning forward and gesturing at them, giving genuinely helpful counsel.

"Traffic's almost unmanageable going that direction, if the new job's downtown." Crowley shrugged as he tipped his wine glass back and emptied it from half-full in one go. 

"Oh, that's a shame." Anathema looked disappointed, her brow furrowing as she looked to Newt. "There were two flats in that neighborhood that had potential, but I'd hate for the traffic situation to be a nightmare."

Crowley made another awful face when Anathema went on to ask about Camden.

"A few of my old…" he trailed off, looking at Aziraphale, and it was clear Crowley wasn't sure exactly how explicit he could be in front of their guests.

"Your former…work-oriented…acquaintances?" Aziraphale offered, and he could see the moment the penny dropped for Anathema and Newt, as Newt had that  _ what-am-I-doing-here _ look on his face again.

"Yes," Crowley nodded. "A particularly nasty pair of my former work-oriented acquaintances fomented a great deal of evil in the catacombs underneath Camden. I wouldn't recommend living anywhere near it. Has a terrible effect on the crime rate and just the whole, general," Crowley paused, gesturing wildly, "feel of the place."

"The two of you must have been in London for a long time," Anathema began, raising her eyebrow at Newt, whose  _ what-am-I-doing-here _ look was now quickly transforming into a  _ get-me-out-of-here-please _ one. "You'd probably have great advice for two people looking for a decent, safe, fairly convenient place. Especially when one of them is from America, and whose lack of local knowledge puts her at a terrible disadvantage against the letting agents, who are just trying to get us to sign a contract and never mind if we'll be happy there."

"We'd love to help!" Aziraphale said, thrilled at the idea that he could be useful to someone again. He'd been in London for almost two hundred years, after all, and had learnt quite a lot about the area in that time. Crowley, for his part, had intimate knowledge of most of the inconveniences that had been woven through the fabric of the city and its surrounding areas.

"Angel, could I speak to you for a moment?" Crowley was sitting upright now, giving him a pleading look and jerking his head toward the shop.

"We won't be a moment," Aziraphale assured their guests, and got to his feet. Crowley had moved rather quickly, really, and was already in the next room just as Newt began protesting that they shouldn't trouble themselves, and they didn't need any assistance after all.

"Nonsense, young man," Aziraphale said, before ducking out. "I'm sure Crowley has so many ideas for you that he'd simply like to talk them over with me before we present them to you. It wouldn't be any trouble at all for us to help you begin your lives together. We'll be back in just a tick."

* * *

"Angel," Crowley hissed, as soon as Aziraphale caught up to him. "You can't be serious, can you? We're not bloody estate agents. What would we  _ possibly  _ know about what those two humans want in a flat?"

"We've been in London for ages, my dear, and we know things about it that no human could possibly know. Given how many times we've had to move around here on Earth, I'm sure we've been involved in more letting negotiations than any human could possibly have been."

"They don't need us, angel." Crowley tilted his head forward, looking at Aziraphale from over the lenses of his glasses. It gave Aziraphale the most peculiar thrill of pleasure when he had the thought that perhaps Crowley didn't enjoy having that barrier between them any longer. "Humans have been handling situations like this without supernatural interference since the first evil genius put together a borderline-legal letting contract."

"Those aren't just any two humans, Crowley. Both of them were willing to lay their lives on the line to stop the destruction of Earth. Bravery of that sort should be rewarded." Aziraphale laid a gentle hand on Crowley's forearm, hoping the touch would grab the demon's attention and get through to him, but he nearly pulled away when Crowley's gaze zipped directly to where Aziraphale's fingers rested over the smooth material of Crowley's coat.

"Yeah, all right," Crowley said, his tone overly light. "If it means that much to you, I suppose we could help out, just this once." Aziraphale pulled his hand away, still worried about whether his gesture had bothered Crowley. It remained a mystery as he watched Crowley shift his weight and look at the floor, as he continued, "Dunno how you plan to get people to just let us tromp through their properties."

"When I found this building for the bookshop, I'd merely answered an advertisement in  _ The Star _ ." He paused, thoughtfully. "Or was it the  _ Whitehall Evening Post _ ?"

"The point, angel?"

"Ah, yes," he said, shaking himself a bit. "I imagine we can look at the listings and give the promising candidates to Anathema and Newt so they can set up the appointments, and then we could go along to advise." Aziraphale felt very energized at the idea the moment it had passed his lips. "We could take a stroll now, Crowley, to procure the evening paper!"

"Hasn't been a real evening paper in London for decades," Crowley sighed, shoving his fingers into the front pockets of his trousers and pushing his shoulders up into a shrug. "Listings are mostly on the internet, these days."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, deflating. "I don't really have—"

"We can push those two out as soon as Newt's dried off, and then we can look at some possibilities together on my phone, if you'd like. Or if the screen's too small, we could go 'round to mine and use my computer. 'Spose I wouldn't mind doing that, as long as you don't have any objections to getting drunk again while we do it."

"Oh, that would be lovely! The larger screen sounds much more the thing, if you're sure you don't mind."

"Of course I…" Crowley started, pausing for an improbably long moment as he stared out from behind his glasses and then swallowed deeply. "I guess don't mind, angel. Not if you really think they need our help."

* * *

The evening was proceeding wonderfully, with Crowley reading listings aloud while Aziraphale leaned his head back and listened to the sound of Crowley's voice bouncing off the hard surfaces of the near-empty flat. There were lovely, soft pillows on Aziraphale's chair (which had never been there before, Aziraphale was certain of that, and would likely not be here again the next time he had occasion to look), and there had been a lovely spread of snacks in Crowley's refrigerator just waiting for Aziraphale to tuck into them.

If he hadn't known better, Aziraphale would have thought Crowley had been expecting to have him over. They'd had no such plans, however, and he could only assume that the plethora of meats, cheeses, jams, honeys, crackers, and chocolates—all of which paired perfectly with the bottle of red Crowley had popped open upon their arrival—was the product of a quick demonic miracle.

Normally, Aziraphale didn't find the idea of miracled food appealing, but these particular morsels were so tasty that he could have sworn they'd been procured the human way.

About an hour ago (or was it two?) Aziraphale had admitted to having trouble picturing the layouts Crowley was describing, at a loss as to how one could possibly translate the deliberately florid and probably misleading estate agent verbiage into a somewhat accurate impression of the space being described. Crowley had set about making sketches for him after that, each one more elaborate than the next, gaining humorous details like a witches' hat hanging on a wall peg, or a bell, book, and candle set out on a drawing of a kitchen table. 

They were giggling madly at Crowley's latest drawing—more about the scene outside the flat's window than the flat itself—featuring Crowley's Bentley sparkling in the sunlight next to Newt's ridiculous Reliant Robin, which was cowering away in fear.

"Quite droll, my dear," Aziraphale said, trying to finally catch his breath. "You do understand, however, that the implication here is that you intend to visit with Anathema and Newt after they move, don't you?"

"Assumed you'd drag me there," Crowley said, shrugging, but he flipped quickly to the next blank sheet in his pad of paper, and the humorous additions grew thinner on the ground after that. Aziraphale spent the rest of the early morning, before Crowley declared them finished with their task and offered to drive Aziraphale home, wishing he hadn't pointed it out in the first place.

"I'll just telephone Anathema, shall I, with our list of recommendations?" Aziraphale said, leaning back into the car after he'd stepped out onto the sidewalk outside his shop. "Unless you'd like to come in so we could do it together?"

Crowley sat there, engine purring in the background, for a long moment before he sat straight up, looking forward through the windscreen and no longer at Aziraphale.

"Got a few things on today, I'm afraid." Crowley was nearly motionless now, save for the restless tapping of one index finger on the steering wheel. "Let me know when they've set the appointments, if you'd like me to come along."

"Of course I would! Your assistance will be vital to the success of the endeavor." Aziraphale struggled to say what he was truly thinking, that it sounded lovely if Crowley were to come along, but dreadfully bleak if he were to bow out. Like so many other things, really, but Aziraphale had no idea how to put how he was feeling into words that wouldn't risk Crowley disappearing for a century or two in response.

"S'pose you'll need me there to sniff out the evil." He nodded once, muscles at his jaw tightening, and he  _ still  _ wouldn't look at Aziraphale. "Let me know when I should pick you up, and I'll be there."

At that, Aziraphale could feel the Bentley beginning to edge forward, so he shut the door before it was ripped from his hands. Crowley was down the street and out of sight while confusion was still churning in Aziraphale's mind, trying to suss out where it had all gone sideways.

* * *

Anathema and Newt turned up the following Saturday, Newt looking as hesitant as ever to be there. As they'd arrived before Crowley did, he'd herded them inside, and when they were all still standing in Aziraphale's closed shop ten minutes after Crowley was meant to turn up, he decided to make them all a cup of tea while they waited. Perhaps it would calm his own nerves as well, something with a touch of chamomile.

"Really isn't necessary, Mr. Aziraphale," Newt stammered, taking a too-quick slurp from his cup and wincing at the burn on his tongue as Aziraphale tried to offer 'round a tray of biscuits. "We had breakfast before we left Jasmine Cottage."

"No need for the 'Mr.,' my good man. It's simply 'Aziraphale.'"

"Yes," Newt agreed, looking troubled. "Seems like it is."

"Mr. Aziraphale's your father?" Anathema asked, with the air of having made a quite jolly joke, but he wasn't sure what it could be.

"I don't really  _ have  _ a father, as such," he answered, frowning. "While there are inaccurate passages in the Bible where the model of human familial relations is haphazardly applied to angels and our relationship with—"

"Never mind," Anathema said, a bit too loudly, as she held one hand out to stop him, the other firmly being held by Newt. "It's just a joke that…it's an American thing."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, brightening. "That explains it completely."

Crowley chose that moment to burst through the front door (which had been locked for anyone who wasn't Crowley, not that it ever would have had the unmitigated gall to try to keep Crowley out, even back in the days when Aziraphale may have wished it so), and that entire line of conversation was abandoned in favor of the lot of them making plans for the road.

Upon reaching the Bentley, Aziraphale swung the rear passenger door open for Anathema first before getting in himself, noting that Newt practically dove for his own door before he might have to interact with Crowley doing the same for him. He hoped Anathema's young man could come to terms with their…other-than-human natures…someday, or every interaction with him would continue to be uncomfortable. It was almost enough to make Aziraphale jumpy himself, despite the delicious anticipation of having the opportunity to be of assistance to someone again.

Aziraphale flashed the list at Crowley, whispering a quick, "And how are you this morning, my dear?" as he did. Crowley cleared his throat and muttered something that sounded like 'fine' under his breath, before he raised his voice to address the occupants of the rear seat.

"First place is really great, guys," he said. "Might not be a need to see any of the others once you get a look at it."

He swung the Bentley into traffic, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from Newt as they were immediately traveling at top speed down a fairly crowded street in Soho.

"Crowley, dear, perhaps you'd favor us with a slightly lower velocity?" Aziraphale choked out, biting back a yelp of his own as he grabbed for something in the interior of the car to steady him. "I'm not sure humans are quite ready for demonic driving."

"Ah," Crowley said, alarmingly looking everywhere but the direction the car was traveling as he appeared to take this advice on board. The corner of his mouth tugged itself down as he scowled, deep in thought, as he wrestled with the idea of driving any other way than his usual breakneck pace. "Right. See what I can do."

The car slowed after a few moments, and the near-constant lane changing became something more like one overtake every few blocks. It likely wasn't enough to put Newt at anything approaching ease, but it was also more cooperation than Aziraphale had expected.

Consulting their notes, Aziraphale decided it might be best to distract them from Crowley's driving by praising the positive features of the first property they were scheduled to see.

"The view. Oh! The view!" Aziraphale gushed. "We both agreed that this particular vantage over the river would afford you a quite pleasant vista, against which you can create your new lives together."

"Traffic'll be fine, too," Crowley added, "especially if you can leave a bit before or a bit after rush hour. And more importantly, I think it's been at least a century or two since anyone from my side had any sort of scheme going in that area, so there'll be no demonic aftershocks to be dealing with."

"Well," Anathema said, sounding quite bright and cheery, and Aziraphale gave her an indulgent smile in return, "that sounds good, doesn't it, Newt?"

"Yeah," he said, his tone not nearly as chipper as Anathema's. "Wouldn't want to be doing with demonic aftershocks, I suppose."

"And so  _ great  _ to have that assurance." Anathema patted a bag by her side. "Though I hope you won't be offended if I double-check you with my theodolite."

"Nope." Aziraphale could see Crowley's eyes open wide in delight behind his glasses, and he lowered his voice significantly and leaned over toward the passenger seat. "Offended? No. Amused?" He looked back at Anathema. "Very." And he grinned wickedly.

Normally Aziraphale would have scolded him for poking fun at a human and her idiosyncratic ways, but he was so relieved to see Crowley finally enjoying himself on this outing that he let it pass. Newt and Anathema couldn't have heard him, besides. Aziraphale had felt the prickling of a demonic miracle teasing the hairs on his arms upward, and presumed it had been performed to keep them from overhearing that last bit.

"We're here," Crowley announced after a time, and he twisted his hands on the wheel to park. (The Bentley responded by maneuvering quite differently than Crowley's movement had suggested, but they'd ended up neatly at the curb without too much rattling around, so perhaps the details were better left unexamined.)

"It…" Newt began, but that was all he was able to say.

"I'm sure it's renovated inside," Anathema said, filling in the silence quickly. "This must be one of those neighborhoods where they've converted commercial spaces into lofts." She smiled, though it seemed forced. "That must be it."

"Well, you don't stand about outside your building staring at it, do you?" Crowley pointed out, and turned around to look at the river flowing along the side of the building and under a nearby foot bridge. "You'd go inside and spend your time looking at this."

"The river certainly is nice," Anathema agreed. "Calming."

"Does the sound of it make you want a wee?" Newt whispered, and Aziraphale decided to pretend he hadn't heard.

"I'm sure you can't hear it from inside," Anathema hissed back, then smiled too-widely at Crowley and Aziraphale.

"Shall we continue on?" Aziraphale suggested, mostly to cover up Crowley's sniggering.

* * *

"It's…" Newt said, and stopped there.

"It's so…" Anathema added.

"Open, yeah?" Crowley said, spreading his arms wide. "And the ceilings, right? The listing said they'd been gutted all the way up to the roofline." Crowley said this as though this was what every young human couple was looking for in a domicile, failing to note the very unscenic exposed pipes and wiring running the length of the place as a result.

"It's certainly quite spacious," Aziraphale said, noting how his voice seemed to echo in the cavern-like room. Aziraphale knew Crowley had a rather minimalist aesthetic and valued the simplicity of his own sparsely decorated flat, but Newt and Anathema didn't look as though they were convinced. "The windows here are quite lovely. Perfect view of the river."

  
"Odd that a flat with a view like this would be in our price range," Anathema said, thinking out loud as she walked toward the line of floor-to-ceiling windows. "We really can't budge on that, you know."

Aziraphale saw the concern in her eyes, and remembered how she'd taken him aside the night she'd shown up with a drenched Newt and confessed that money wasn't an issue for her, but Newt was insisting on splitting the expenses down the middle. His salary was…well, still rather on the entry-level end of the spectrum. Aziraphale could see she was worried that they'd stretched well past their stated limit, so he put paid to that thought immediately.

"It's at the higher end of your range, my dear, but still well within it. Perhaps we should peek at the bedroom?" Aziraphale suggested, and led them toward the only doorway leading from the room.

It led not to a hallway where several rooms jutted off to the side, but rather to another single room. There were built-in metal shelves lining the walls and industrial-style lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and nothing else.

"Is this…the bedroom?" Anathema wondered out loud. "I wonder where the bathroom is."

"Ah." Crowley's voice cut into the sudden silence among the group. "There's a shared one back off the corridor leading to the flat, isn't that enough?"

"I'd heard that communal restrooms were more common throughout parts of Europe, but I didn't think—"

"They aren't," Newt said, interrupting Anathema. "And is there no kitchen, either?"

"Oh," Crowley said, looking surprised. "Do you do a lot of actual cooking?"

Anathema spoke up before the little squeak Newt had made in response could turn into anything else.

"Having the option to do so would certainly be a plus," she said. "And the private bathroom, I think, is a hard requirement."

"Hmm," Crowley said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "Would you be against the idea of those things…you know…showing up once you let the place?" 

"I think we're looking more for the built-in option from the start," Anathema said, and Newt was squeezing her hand so tightly that her fingers were turning white. "Can't have the landlord come around to find whole rooms that weren't here before, right?"

"Ah, yeah, because you can't just…" Crowley said, making a swooping motion with his hand, which pulled another gulping noise from Newt. "Wish I'd known before, but it's good to find out now." He turned to Aziraphale. "Could I have the list, angel?"

Aziraphale handed it over and Crowley snapped, producing a pen, and lined through three entries on the paper, then tapped the pen against his lips for a few moments before crossing through one more.

"Well, it's lucky we came here first," Aziraphale said, attempting to salvage their initial attempt somehow. "We'll save ever so much time by discovering more about your requirements early in the process."

Anathema nodded, an uncertain smile plastered on her face, and she led a blank-looking Newt back into the main room. Aziraphale hung behind and put his hand gently on Crowley's arm to stop him, as well, so they could have a private word.

"Are there any others on the list that aren't actually flats?" he asked, and Crowley squinted at the list once more.

"Fine." Crowley sighed, infinitely put-upon, as he lined through one more entry. "Hopefully one of the remaining two will appeal to them."

As they were walking out, Aziraphale distinctly heard Newt whisper, "I  _ can  _ hear the bloody river in here, and there's not even a place for a wee."

* * *

They neared the second flat and there were no parking spaces the first time Aziraphale looked. Just when he was starting to wonder if Crowley was too preoccupied with 'careful' driving to fix it, a lovely section next to the curb in front of the building opened up. Crowley swung into it and they all got out, marveling at the bustle of activity around them.

"Oh, it's lively, isn't it?" Anathema said, and Aziraphale was ever so pleased to note that she seemed very energized by it. Even Newt was looking around, a tiny smile playing at his mouth, which grew wider when he saw how charmed Anathema was. 

She peered at the shops and restaurants that took up the first floor of most of the surrounding buildings, colorful goods brightening their windows, then looked hopefully back to the building in front of them.

The landlord chose that moment to turn up with the key, handing it over to Aziraphale and gesturing to the side door that allowed access to the upper floors.

"I'll stay here, if it's all right, so I can have a smoke. Any questions, open a street-side window and shout 'em down?" The man was already getting out his lighter, clearly quite the tobacco aficionado. "There's no smoking in the building, though, all right? If I have to tromp outside, I expect my tenants to do the same."

"Non-smokers," Anathema told him, gesturing between herself and Newt.

"Cheers," the man said, lifting the flaming lighter as though it was a glass of champagne he was toasting them with. "Good on you, it's a nasty habit."

They set off upstairs, taking the two flights quickly at first, but slower as fatigue began to set in.

"We'll be in amazing shape," Anathema observed, genuinely seeming undeterred by the idea of the stairs featuring in their everyday lives.

Newt, on the other hand, was looking quite peaky, and his breaths were more of a gasp at this point. Aziraphale couldn't help but agree, but watching Crowley's hips sway as he turned the climb up into an actual saunter was a lovely distraction.

"3A," Crowley said, pointing to the slightly off-kilter metal number and letter marking the door of the flat. "Toss us the key, Aziraphale?"

"I'll be right there," he answered, panting a bit as he ascended the last handful of stairs. "If I tried to throw it, I fear it'd end up out a window somewhere."

"Rubbish, you're always so good at—" Crowley began, then cut himself off abruptly. "Well, never mind. You're here now," he said, slouching away from the door to give Aziraphale access, as he had kept the key.

He had to try twice to get the key in the lock, his heart fluttering in his chest at the suggestion of praise and making his hands shake. When he finally got it in and turned the knob, he sighed in pleasure at the lovely sight awaiting them.

"It's furnished," Aziraphale said, sweeping his arm out. "You didn't say if you had your own things to be bringing along, but—"

"Not much, really," Anathema broke in, looking even more enchanted at the sight of the cozy furnishings inside the flat. "Nothing that wouldn't fit in around what's already here. Everything at Jasmine Cottage will be staying there when I leave, and Newt—" She stopped herself, looking troubled for the first time since she'd set eyes on this building.

"I've never had much of my own," Newt told the floor, as he stared at his shoes. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Hey," Anathema said, pressing herself into his side, and his arm came up automatically around her shoulders. "All that is changing, remember?"

Newt's worried eyes softened into a look of pure, besotted love, and Aziraphale felt faint as the strong wave of emotion coming off the young couple broke upon him like waves lapping on the shore. His hands fluttered at his tie, needlessly straightening it to get rid of the excess energy suddenly flowing through him. 

When he looked up a moment later, Crowley had the oddest look on his face. Aziraphale was about to ask him if he was quite all right when Crowley suddenly launched into an impromptu tour of the place. 

"So I'm sure you can see the kitchen through that doorway," Crowley said, gesturing lazily off toward an open door, through which an almost storybook set of cabinets and appliances was clearly visible. Soft, yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze filtering through the open window, and the mid-morning light flooded in to cast warmth over the entire room.

"That's the kitchen box ticked, then," Aziraphale said, relieved that this was going so much better than their first attempt.

"If it's got a WC, I might just sign the papers right now," Newt joked, looking almost completely at ease at last.

Crowley ambled off through the other door leading from the sitting room, calling out a jaunty "Bingo!" accompanied by the sound of running water. "Tested the taps, as well. Water pressure seems fine," he said, coming back into view.

Aziraphale tilted his head, which Crowley appeared to accurately read as Aziraphale's amazement that he'd think to check something so mundane as the water pressure.

"I like a decent shower sometimes, me, and the disappointing dribble from substandard pressure is  _ definitely  _ one that my side's responsible for."

Aziraphale blinked, still stuck on the mental image of Crowley in a shower, naked as the day he was formed and luxuriating under a spray so warm that it turned his skin pink.

"Right," Crowley said. "Looks like I'm doing the guide duties here, so I s'pose you should take a minute to check through there yourself? I saw the bedroom, too. Seemed roomy," he said, with a shrug, and Newt and Anathema disappeared around the corner.

Aziraphale dithered internally at the silence that fell in Anathema and Newt's absence, and it seemed Crowley felt similarly. The demon cleared his throat a few times and shuffled awkwardly around at Aziraphale's side. There was something about watching Newt and Anathema preparing themselves for their new life together that was burrowing deep into Aziraphale's thoughts, causing pangs of something he'd rather describe as yearning, but was probably frighteningly close to a deep-seated envy.

"So sorry," Aziraphale whispered, shaking his head to clear it. "I was concentrating on…" He paused, realizing he had no plausible explanation for his silence. "Well, I was hoping quite strongly that our friends would find this lovely space more than adequate for their needs."

"Yeah," Crowley agreed. "Be nice to be done."

"That's not at all what I meant," Aziraphale protested. He'd agreed to help and intended to do just that, ensuring that the eventual decision about the flat would leave Anathema and Newt truly happy and not simply the completion of a task.

"I know, angel." Crowley was smiling at him now, the features of his face relaxed, his sharp angles softening with something that looked an awful lot like fondness. "We'll be at this until you're satisfied, I promise."

"You make me sound like such a tyrant."

"No," came Crowley's answer, rushed out on a sigh. "Of course you're n—I mean, I agreed to help out. Wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't about to back out on you."

"You would never," Aziraphale whispered, his entire being suddenly full to overflowing with everything he felt for this marvelous creature standing at his side. "You never have, not when I truly needed you."

Crowley gawped at him, his mouth working but with no sound coming out, but then he seemed to steel himself for something.

"Angel, I—"

"This place is amazing!" Anathema gushed, bursting back into the sitting room from the hallway with her arms flung wide, a goofily happy Newt trailing behind her. She stopped short once she took in the body language of the angel and demon waiting for them, though, and awkwardly cleared her throat. "I think I forgot to check something, Newt, let's—"

"I'd love to hear what you're thinking so far first, dear Anathema," Aziraphale choked out, suddenly terrified of whatever Crowley had been about to tell him. How foolish he'd been, saying something like that to Crowley, who hated whenever any of his many positive qualities were pointed out to him. Aziraphale felt quite lucky that Anathema had interrupted before Crowley'd had to tell him yet again how uncomfortable such talk made him.

"I can't imagine that letting this place would be a mistake. It seems perfect, really, just—" Anathema stopped herself, tilting her head a little. "It is a bit loud though, isn't it?"

For the first time, Aziraphale took in the sounds of the street below as they came through the open window in the kitchen.

"I'm sure it's fine, Anathema. You like the place so much, we'll get used to it," Newt said, tugging at her hand.

"No, you have trouble concentrating when there's too much going on, and you're such a light sleeper."

"I'm sure everything closes up at a decent hour," Newt protested, looking to Crowley and Aziraphale for backup.

"Not that sort of place," Crowley said, shrugging, after a long moment of silence from the both of them. "It's more of a night life sort of area." Aziraphale shot him a desperate look, so he added a quick, "I'll find out," before strolling into the kitchen to lean out the window. "Oi, landlord! What time do the businesses board up 'round here?"

"Not too late," the landlord called back, and Aziraphale was about to reassure Newt when the remainder of the answer floated up to them. "Most everything's shut by 2 a.m."

Newt's shoulders fell.

"You have to be at work by seven, Newt," she said, looking truly sad. "You'd be miserable."

"Let's see what it's like with the windows shut," Newt said, not giving up easily. He hurried into the kitchen and pulled down on the window, which only shut out a fraction of the noise. "See?" he said, returning to Anathema and trying much too hard to sound convincing. "Much better this way."

"It's not," she said, but she was looking at Newt as though he'd hung the moon. "You're trying to make this work for my sake, but it isn't right. This needs to be perfect for  _ both  _ of us."

"I'll get used to it," Newt pleaded, and Aziraphale felt pinpricks of tears in the corners of his eyes at the display of sweet, oh-so-human love between the two of them, each trying to sacrifice their own happiness for the other.

Anathema just stared back, and Aziraphale's breath caught, waiting to see if she would accept what Newt was offering her, when a great clanging came from the front of the flat. They all looked at each other in confusion when the sound repeated itself. If anything, it was even louder this time.

It was Aziraphale's turn at the window now, as he re-opened it to shout a query down to the landlord.

"My good man, if I could trouble you with one more question?" Aziraphale said, leaning out a bit. "It's just that we've heard—"

"Oh, the banging? Happens every so often, while the restaurant down here on the first floor is open. No more than a couple of times an hour."

"And that restaurant is open…?" Aziraphale asked, wincing.

"Only until midnight!" the landlord offered, as though this would be quite relieving information. "Doesn't start again until six in the morning, when they start prepping for breakfast. Every tenant I've had swore that they got used to it after a couple of months." Aziraphale thanked him and returned to the group, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Newt was trying yet again to plead his case to Anathema, but she wasn't having it. She'd led him to the couch (the one Aziraphale had already pictured the two of them snuggled up together on, much to his dismay) and was speaking softly and gently to him, while he brushed worshipful fingers over her face. Aziraphale felt like a terrible interloper, but he couldn't make himself look away.

"The place we find needs to be  _ ours,  _ Newt. You got me to stop living according to someone else's plan instead of my own, and I'm finally finding out who I am. I won't let you sacrifice who you are or what you need just to make me happy."

"But one of the things I  _ need  _ is for you to be happy," he protested, taking her cheek into his palm.

"And one of the things  _ I  _ need is for you to be comfortable." They smiled at each other, and Newt let out a sad sigh. "So close, guys, but the noise is a deal-breaker. I'm sorry."

"Completely understandable, my dear Anathema," Aziraphale assured her. "We still have one more possibility to visit. Let's transfer our hopes to that, and if it doesn't work out, we'll merely have to schedule another round of flat hunting."

They tromped back down the stairs and handed in the key to the disappointed landlord, who continued to insist that all his previous tenants had adjusted to the noise until Anathema firmly turned him down. Crowley pulled Aziraphale aside as the other two were wrapping up.

"What's the scoop on this last place, then, angel? It wasn't one of mine, so it must be something you put on the list."

Aziraphale took the scrap of paper from Crowley and peered at it, squinting as he tried to remember having seen the final address before, but he came up with nothing. He was in the middle of explaining that an extra entry made it onto their itinerary before Anathema cut him off.

"I added one place I'd found on my own," she told him, nodding as she looked at the paper. "I hope you aren't hurt that—"

"Of course not," Aziraphale assured her, and began an overly cheerful conversation with her about where it was located to cut Crowley off from the 'all that planning and this is the thanks we get' diatribe that he feared was imminent.

The Bentley was speeding off again before Aziraphale knew it, even as he tried not to worry that they would let their friends down.

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Aziraphale took in the final flat on the list, especially after he noticed that Crowley also had quite a grim look on his face. From the moment they'd let themselves inside, the litany of less-than-ideal aspects of the place began to pile up.

"It's kinda cute," Anathema said, running a hand along the sofa that was furnished along with the flat. The furniture here was a tad threadbare, not nearly as welcoming as the lovely items that had been included with the noisy flat.

Newt poked around in the kitchen, a much less idyllic version than the one before. The appliances looked older, and there was no lovely window to shower the place in light and a gentle breeze. Still, Aziraphale watched Newt run his hand along the countertops, then turn to the built-in banquette that was squeezed into the corner and smile before moving on.

"This is further from your new job than you said you wanted," Crowley said, as though testing the waters—trying to get them to begin listing all of the suboptimal features of the place so they could move on, Aziraphale supposed.

Newt met that information with a shrug. "If I'm sleeping better than I would have at the last place, I can just get up earlier."

"Are you sure?" Anathema said, checking in with him, and she appeared to accept it when he gave her a  _ 'yeah, why not?'  _ shrug in return. "Fair enough. Let's check out the bedroom?"

They filed into the economically sized bedroom next to a serviceable, but also tiny, en suite.

"You'd struggle to get anything larger than a double in here, I should think," Aziraphale said, drawing on the quick research he'd done while they were making their original list.

It was Anathema's turn to shrug. "We can make do with that, I think."

"The shops are a bit far," Crowley added. "Nice that it's more quiet here, but doing the shop might be a bit of a faff."

"I could stop on my way home from work," Newt offered, and Aziraphale couldn't quite believe how sure they both seemed, even in the face of all the obvious faults of this flat.

"The only view is of the car park," Crowley said, his annoyance overflowing now.

"Who stands around looking out the windows, anyway?" Anathema asked, laughing a little.

"So…you like it?" Aziraphale asked, befuddled.

"I think I do," Anathema said, cautiously. At Newt's quick, answering nod, she broke into a full, unreserved smile.

"But it's all wrong!" Crowley cried. "It's cramped, the kitchen's awful, the view's a disaster, the furniture might fall apart next week, and the commute's rubbish."

"Yeah," Newt whispered, still not taking his eyes off Anathema, "but it feels like home."

"It  _ does.  _ It's perfect," Anathema added, and she dragged Newt down to give him a quick peck on the lips before she turned to take in Crowley and Aziraphale. "Thank you both  _ so much.  _ We couldn't have done this without you."

"We didn't  _ do  _ anything," Aziraphale protested. "You selected this one, Anathema."

"But you helped us figure it out. I don't know if we would have recognized this for what it is if we hadn't seen the others." She reached out and squeezed Aziraphale's hand. "We've kept you two long enough. We can meet with the landlord and take the bus back to the train station. There's a stop just down the street that I found when I was looking into this place."

"Are you certain? We wouldn't mind—" Aziraphale began, but Crowley cut him off.

"You heard them, angel. They know what they want."

They said their goodbyes and went back to the Bentley, which was soon enough speeding its way back to the bookshop.

"Tempt you to dinner, my dear?" Aziraphale ventured, not wanting to say goodbye to Crowley yet—not with all this talk of  _ home  _ and things that were perfect despite not seeming so on the outside.

"Anywhere you like," Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale wondered why Crowley wasn't ranting about the fickle humans not knowing what they wanted and not taking the sound advice of the ethereal and occult beings they'd enlisted to help them. That seemed so very like the demon at his side, and yet Crowley seemed as quiet and introspective as Aziraphale felt.

* * *

They ended up at the Ritz, of course, which is where they always went when neither of them had a compelling desire to go elsewhere. The Bentley had practically driven itself here, along the well-worn roads it had traveled many times before.

After the hors d'oeuvres were placed in front of them and they were alone again, Aziraphale found he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer.

"I know you wanted to shout at them for ignoring nearly all of our advice, Crowley. I can't help wondering what kept you from it." He took a careful sip of his wine, watching his tablemate closely to see if his question was being received well or poorly.

Crowley shrugged, knocking back a gulp of his own wine.

"Perhaps I was tempting them into a place that will make them miserable all the time, put a little more low-grade evil into the world?" Crowley raised an eyebrow over his glass, taking another long drink.

"Oh, you weren't. You can't fool me, you old serpent. You genuinely wanted them to be happy."

"Take that back," Crowley growled, but there was no real bite to it.

"I shan't," he said, taking a quick, prim bite of his starter. "It's the truth, and I've resolved never to lie to you again."

"Fine," Crowley said, his tone clipped, but there was a lovely flush appearing on his cheeks.

Aziraphale had so much evidence of Crowley's feelings, how the secrets of his own heart, his yearning for them to finally be  _ more,  _ was so often reflected back at him in Crowley's eyes—and yet it was that one blush that flipped some sort of switch inside Aziraphale. He couldn't wait, not one second longer, and no amount of their history of denial and suppression of feelings could be enough to hold him back.

"They found their home today, Crowley. Newt and Anathema."

"Yeah, angel, I know," Crowley said, trying to act nonchalant, Aziraphale could see, but there was a tension to him just under the surface. "I was there."

"They may find others as their lives change. They probably will, if the mercurial nature of humanity is any indication." Aziraphale took another bite, savoring it as he considered how he wanted to negotiate the transition. "Yet they'll always remember this one as the first. Something they chose together, a place where the most dear memories of their lives together might be forged."

"Getting soppy, angel," Crowley warned, but again—utterly toothless.

"I'm feeling rather soppy," he admitted. Then he took a deep breath, looked directly at Crowley, and spoke again. "I think I realized where my home is today, as well."

"London, I hope," Crowley grunted, looking back down at his plate. "Can't imagine what a nightmare it would be for you to pack up all those books and move them the human way, and I bet you'd be too anxious to use a miracle on them. One of them might go missing otherwise, after all, or have all of its pages scrambled."

"It really quite depends on where you're planning to spend the rest of eternity, my dear," Aziraphale whispered, and then took another small bite to quell his nerves.

"What do you—" Crowley breathed, but Aziraphale couldn't wait any longer.

" _ You're  _ my home, Crowley. I am at home whenever and whereever I'm with you."

"What…what do you…you can't possibly…" Crowley sputtered, ripping off his glasses, and those beautiful gold eyes shone wide with shock and hope.

"I  _ can  _ possibly, and I do. I do indeed mean every word I've just said to you."

"I love you, angel." The words fell out of Crowley's mouth, as though they'd always been there, held back by a dam that his dearest had rebuilt each day, reinforcing it with fear and doubt and the pain of uncertainty. It caused a pang of regret to spike through Aziraphale, forcing his eyes shut. It was a truly awful thought that Crowley had ever, for one moment, had to feel that way, but he all he could do now was resolve that he would never feel it again.

"Do you…" Crowley continued, his voice cracking, and Aziraphale's eyes flew open at the broken, desperate sound of it. "I mean, if you don't—" 

"More than I can say in any language we've ever spoken, my dearest, do I love you. Deeply, madly, irrevocably," he answered, leaving absolutely no room for confusion.

"Would you ever consider…?" Crowley stopped, his questioning tone clear, and Aziraphale's breath caught in anticipation. "I'm tired of my flat, angel. It's so empty."

"And it's entirely possible, my dear, that I've grown weary of having to fit myself in around my books. If I could convert my private space at the shop into storage, I'm sure I'd be much happier with my arrangements there."

"But you'd have to find somewhere else to live," Crowley said, sounding breathless.

"So would you, if you've grown so tired of your flat."

They smiled at each other, clinking their glasses together to seal the deal, and Aziraphale knew what they would do. They'd bustle about, probably bickering about one thing or another, until they found a space that seemed right to the both of them. Aziraphale wasn't sure where it would be or what it would look like, but he knew it would feel like home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at @bisasterdi, come and yell about Good Omens there with me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wherever I'm With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252530) by [miraworos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos)




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